by Leigh, Mara
“Out! Now!” Jake’s command boomed from just beyond the screen. The sound penetrated her belly, setting off an earthquake of rumbling vibrations.
She smoothed her hands down her torso to rest on her hips. She would not act like some kind of supplicant. This fantasy was about losing control—not dignity.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” She wished she could dim her body’s telltale flushing.
“Now,” he said. “Or you’ll be punished.”
It sounded like he slapped something hard against his hand. Her sex squeezed and one of the beads grazed her opening. “Listen, Jake, or whatever your real name is, I checked ‘no’ to whips or canes.”
“Enough talking.” The screen crashed to the floor.
Her entire body clenched and she swallowed a gasp.
Struggling not to react, she kept her eyes focused on her reflection. But with the privacy barrier down, the heat of his gaze blistered her naked skin. She covered her breasts and slowly transferred her gaze from her image to his.
The air pushed from her lungs and her hands dropped to her sides.
Jake was wearing next to nothing, and what he was wearing—Ack! If he’d looked good fully clothed, another adjective, one far beyond her current vocabulary, was required for the unclothed version of Jake.
Her eyes devoured his bulging chest and ripped abs, and then slipped down the thin trail of dark hair tracing the path to his cock. She fought to keep her jaw from dropping.
Leather straps circled his hips to form a bizarre leather harness that encased his balls but left his long, thick cock hanging free from a ring at its base. She’d never thought of the male genitalia as attractive—some men’s were downright comical—but everything about Jake’s dick screamed beautiful. Glistening below a thick, veined shaft, his pink head curved into a stunning bulb. The photo she’d seen had not been enhanced. In fact, it hadn’t done him justice. And he wasn’t even hard. Yet.
Her mouth went dry. She stepped back from the mirror, and her calves hit the chaise lounge. She dropped down on her ass.
Graceful. Dignity had definitely left the building.
He glowered. “Come here. Now.”
The lust spell broke.
Swinging her legs up onto the chaise, she crossed her arms and leaned back. “Stop being such a prick.”
He approached and leaned forward, one hand on either side of her. “Do you want me to hit you? To take you over my lap and spank you? To drag you out of here by your hair? Is that what you want?”
His salty, hot scent made her dizzy, and her back arched against the rush of heat and fear contracting inside her. But she shook off both to gather up a more useful emotion. She summoned all of her anger—anger at her body for flinching, at her cheeks for reddening, her nipples for hardening, her loins for betraying her desire. She retrained her anger on him.
Raising her chin, she looked him directly in the eyes. “My fantasy was to lose control during sex, to shed my inhibitions. I did not ask to be verbally abused. I did not ask to be threatened, and I certainly did not ask to be punished.”
He loomed above her, unflinching. He was going to hit her. Or worse.
Her cheeks burned. Her heart raced. What would he do to her? Better question—could she stop him?
“Come here, then.” Backing away, he issued the order more gently.
She stood and stepped forward, trying to hide the slight trembling in her knees.
Taking her shoulders, he turned her and carefully draped a black silk blindfold over her eyes, tying it under her ponytail.
“You didn’t even read my script, did you?” she asked.
“Blindfold: optional during scene four,” he said, clearly hiding a chuckle now. “Forget your script.” He was back to all business. “I give the orders, not you.”
“Fine.” She shook her head. “We’ll do it your way. At least to start.”
He ran his hands over her shoulders, tracing down to the tips of her fingers and back up. This was okay, if a bit gentler than the moves she’d thought up.
He kicked her legs apart.
She gasped. “Hey.” She tried to turn, but he held her shoulders firm, and braced one of her feet with his.
“I’m in charge,” he growled in her ear.
His hand spanned her belly—hugely sexy. But she wasn’t ready to cave to his alpha-male shit. To show him, she slid her legs closer together, but each time she moved her free foot, he pushed out the other. And all the while his hands were on her, over her, everywhere, distracting her from her goal. Soon, it was hard to even remember her script.
Moving up to her breasts, his thumb flicked her taut nipple, then he tugged up on the thong, digging the beaded string into her pussy and the edge of the leather vee into her clit. Rising onto her toes, she forced out a sharp breath. He flicked her nipple, then tugged again, and the alternating stimulation started driving her into a frenzy.
Just as she was getting used to his rhythm, he forced her feet even further apart and pressed his thigh between her legs. His hard cock brushed her ass. She heard a stifled groan as he worked his quads against the thong’s beads, pressing and churning and grinding them against her soft folds.
She arched, pushing herself harder onto his thigh, increasing the pressure of the thong on her clit. He sure knew how to work those beads, and while this might not be exactly what she’d planned, if she came hard enough she might not report him to his boss.
Too soon, he released his leg’s pressure and returned to gentle caresses. Slightly frustrated, she pushed back, trying to find his leg again, but he refused to cooperate. Then, suddenly, he pressed up with his leg at the same time as he pinched both of her nipples. Her head slammed back against his chest and she moaned. His leg pressed harder.
“Oh, yeah. Like that.”
The instant the words were out of her mouth, his leg and its delicious pleasure vanished. His hands tightly held her shoulders as he breathed heavily behind her.
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
His hands slid to her throat, and he lifted her chin, tipping her head back. She was about to object but got distracted by his hard cock pressed against her. Fires lit beneath her skin as he rubbed his erection along the string of beads that separated her ass.
Without warning, he spun her and lifted her into his arms.
“Put me down.” She pushed against his chest. “I can walk on my own.”
“Do I need to use a gag?”
She reached for her blindfold.
“Keep it on!”
She dropped her hands. “You don’t have to yell.”
“Then stop directing me.” He was doing his best to overpower her—she could tell—but at times his voice sounded more amused than intimidating.
He carried her farther than seemed possible given the small room, and she deduced that they’d gone through the double doors past the bed. He set her down on something soft. “Lie back.” He supported her as she complied.
As best she could tell by feeling around, he had her on a narrow table, covered with fake fur. “Why fuck me on this table when there’s a perfectly good bed?” she asked. “I know you’re the so-called expert here, but my script was way better.”
Her heart rate was rising. She hated having partners on top and wasn’t sure she could flip him over on this small bed.
“Quiet.” He pressed something hard against her lips and she shuddered.
“Do I need to use this?” he asked.
It felt like one of those ball gags like she’d seen in Pulp Fiction. If he tried to put that on her, she’d really fight back. “No!”
“Then don’t make me.” He continued to caress her, firmly, but gently. Using both hands he massaged one of her arms, slowly tracing toward her fingers. When she finally gave, just a little, he raised her arm above her head and snapped something around her wrist. She tried to lower her arm, but couldn’t.
“Hey. What did you do?” She twisted, arching off the surface. “I’m wil
ling to give you a little leeway to improv, but not this.”
“Silence,” he growled into her ear.
She reached up with her free arm to see what was holding her and discovered what felt like a padded cuff. Before she could lower her arm, he grabbed that one too, and snapped on another cuff.
“Hey.”
Something pulled the cuffs and her wrists back, until her arms were stretched above her head.
She was about to object, but his tongue traced around one of her nipples. Oh! That was nice. With her arms forcing her into a slight arch, she felt sexy, and she pressed her breast into his lips. He circled, then sucked, then circled again.
“Don’t stop,” she said.
“I’m in charge!”
His mouth left her body.
So did his hands.
Fine, she thought. He didn’t like feedback. She might as well let him improv for a while.
She arched her breasts up, so he’d know what she wanted, and slid her legs against each other, wrangling every opportunity for pleasure from the thong.
He wasn’t taking her hints, so she bent her knees and let them fall open. Talk about obvious. She’d signed the full penetration waiver, and right now she wanted his dick, any way she could get it.
“Where are you?” She pressed her hips up and swiveled, rubbing the beads against herself. “I can hear you breathing. Why aren’t you touching me anymore? When are you going to fuck me?”
She reached for him with her foot.
He grabbed her ankle, and she let him move it into the position he wanted—high and to the side. This was more like it.
Something clamped around her ankle.
“What the fuck?” She twisted and bucked, kicking with her free leg.
He waited for the instant she relaxed, then snapped a cuff around that ankle, too.
“I don’t like this. Let me go. Now.” She bumped and thrashed on the table, wishing she’d removed the blindfold while she still had use of her hands. She pulled on her arm restraints. “These cuffs hurt. I asked to be loosely tied to a bed with silk scarves—and not until scene three. Loosely.”
“Quiet,” he barked. She flinched. He was really into this alpha-male-dominator persona. “The cuffs are well padded,” he said gruffly. “And I haven’t even begun to tighten the restraints.”
“Tighten? What do you mean, tighten?” She tried to bend her knees, testing her limits.
The restraints tugged on her legs, straightening and splaying them. She yelped.
“Quiet!” he commanded. “There’s no way we’re near the limits of your flexibility—yet.”
He was right about that. But when she put herself in this position, stretching, she wore clothes! No lover, no one, had ever seen her like this.
“Have you got me on some kind of medieval torture device?” Her legs strained as she tried to pull them together. “Because I am not up for that. Not at all. Let me go.”
“Relax. Give yourself over.” His fingers brushed across her cheeks, but she turned away from his touch.
“This is not what I asked for,” she said, trying to find her ‘I’m the boss’ tone. “You were supposed to eat me out first. You were supposed to push me up against the wall, put my leg over your shoulder, tear my thong with your teeth, and—”
“I’ll do as I please, when I please.” He pushed a finger inside her.
She sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed against him.
He pulled out.
“Do that again.”
“Quiet.” He pinched her labia.
“Ouch. You asshole. I’m going to use the safe word.”
“There’s no need for a banana right now.” He lowered his voice, moved his lips close to her ear. “Unless I decide to ram one into your lush little pussy.”
“I’d prefer your cock.” She raised her hips off the bed, hoping he’d accept the invitation, but instead of getting what she wanted, he slapped her ass, right where it met her thighs.
“Hey!” The sting burned, sending tendrils of pain shooting down her legs.
She squirmed against the restraints, but they wouldn’t yield.
He slapped her again.
“What are you hitting me with?” she gasped. It wasn’t his hand.
“A leather crop.” He dragged it down her belly, then along one of her legs. If she could trust her senses, it was about an inch wide, and flexible.
He struck her again, and as the sting radiated, she heard him doing something to the table. Although she couldn’t be sure, it seemed like the portion of the table from below her splayed legs was gone, leaving her butt—and genitals—right at the table’s end. Her suspicions were confirmed when his body brushed against the backs of her thighs.
As much as she hated this exposed position, she realized that now he could fuck her without climbing on top. Bonus.
Bending over her with his hand pressed into her stomach, he licked and then gently bit her nipples. She was reveling in the sensation when suddenly the warmth of his body vanished from between her legs.
She raised her head, wishing she could see, and the crop struck her again. Right on her mons.
“That hurts.” The sting spread, and she twisted on the fur. Then he slapped her again, lower this time, and the sound revealed how wet she’d become.
Wet and on fire. The pain of each strike wakened every nerve inside her—especially those between her legs. She wanted him so badly, it was hard to stay still. “Stop hitting me. Fuck me or eat me out. Now.”
He flicked her again with the strap. Right on her sex.
She gasped and bucked. “Stop that.”
He did it again.
It was time to remind him who was the boss.
“Banana, you asshole. Banana.”
Chapter Two
* * *
Rex’s heart sank. Blood pounded in ears, his balls, his dick. This woman who knew him as Jake was full of surprises, and he was way more turned on than he wanted to admit—even to himself.
Given how close he’d been to fucking this woman, rather than doing his job, he should be relieved that she’d ended it. But he wasn’t. At this moment he’d never wanted to give—or take—pleasure more. Closing his eyes, he drew deep breaths, trying to get his erection to subside. So unprofessional. Despite her demands, the specs for this assignment didn’t call for use of his dick.
She squirmed on the table, and the chains on her bra brushed the tight nipples of her pert, natural breasts. Her jaw shifted in defiance, like she was trying to hide her obvious stimulation.
Reaching down to restore the lower sections of the table, he caught her scent. Fuck.
She was still restrained—his for the taking. What he wouldn’t give to press his mouth into her flushed, taut belly, to inhale her erotic bouquet as he traced his lips down to that thong, and then press his tongue, his fingers, his cock deep into her pussy. His erection jumped.
Physically, Deana was completely his type—supple, with beautiful, soft skin, dark hair and green eyes. But his real attraction came from her sense of humor—and her defiance. At first, he’d assumed it was an act to goad him into punishing her. But he sensed it wasn’t.
Despite the agency’s screening, most “I want to lose control” clients actually wanted pain. Lots of it. Past clients had begged him to whip them, or burn them, or jam three-inch-diameter dildos up their asses. And ever since the popularity of those books that every woman on the planet seemed to have read, way too many clients had expected him to belittle them, treat them like children. It was creepy.
Sure, he’d met women, even some of his co-workers, who were in healthy submissive relationships, but real subs didn’t hire Fantasies Unleashed. Not the ones he’d met. And he’d begun to hate those clients. Hate them for what they asked him to do, hate them for making him dislike the job he otherwise loved.
He’d told his boss, Eleanor, when she’d insisted he keep this booking: this was the last assignment he’d take that hinted at masochism. The
very last one. How ironic that right now, he was the one who wanted to continue.
Sucking in a deep breath, he stepped away. “Okay, we’re done.” He reached for the ankle restraints.
“Wait a damn minute.” Her voice was firm, edging on angry.
His cock liked that. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘We’re done’?” She lifted her head, even though she couldn’t see through the blindfold.
His hand slipped from the ankle cuffs to rest on her warm calf. “You said your safe word. Game over. I can’t continue.”
“No way. I paid for this.” She tried to pull her arms down. “Let’s start over. Do you need to hear me say it again? Please proceed.”
“Someone from our office will contact you about a partial refund.”
“Listen,” she said. “If you get back on script, I promise I won’t file a complaint with your boss.”
He shook his head, smiling. Eleanor wouldn’t be thrilled that the assignment wasn’t completed, but she’d laugh when she heard his side of the story. They’d shared some stories over the years, but this was the first time a client asked him to follow a script when she supposedly wanted to lose control.
And for some reason, that turned him on.
He was damn lucky she’d used her safe word. If they’d continued, the wrong one of them would have lost control.
***
Deana stormed into the Fantasies Unleashed office, after finding the address on her contract. “I want my money back and I want him fired.”
A slender woman, with flawlessly coiffed gray hair, was sitting at an antique desk, facing the door and talking on the phone. She raised a finger, asking Deana to wait. Fine.
Deana paced around the space, which was decorated with gorgeous ceramic and glass pieces. She studied an ornate porcelain vase, inlaid with thousands of tiny imprints of birds. The bone-colored glaze was perfection.
“May I help you?” a velvety voice asked.
Deana turned toward the woman. “I’d like to speak to the owner.”
The woman stood. Her suit looked like Chanel. Seriously classy. What was she doing in this place?
“I’m Eleanor Rigby,” the woman said. “I’m the owner of Fantasies Unleashed. How may I help you?”